


Changing faces

by likingthistoomuch



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, amnesia!lock, angst for starts, but it will get happy, it will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-06 23:10:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8773117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likingthistoomuch/pseuds/likingthistoomuch
Summary: Victorian sherlolly. When Sherlock regained his memory, Molly lost all hope. But then, good deeds always pay off.





	1. When all seems lost...

She nodded gravely, knowing what the man in front of her was suggesting would most probably destroy her spirit, but she knew it was the right thing. She even saw remorse in his eyes. Mycroft Holmes wasn’t the most expressive of men, but even he knew when he was being the cruellest he had ever been. He seemed almost sorry, looking down at the hat in his hands instead of her.

“I can never repay you, Miss Hooper, no matter how hard I try. But this is essential. For him and for everyone involved. You have to stay away-..you can never see Sherlock again. Ever.”

So she had nodded and left the cottage, not sparing a glance towards the man who was leaving them behind.

Yes, she had helped him when he needed it the most. She had discovered the stranger lying unconscious by the riverside, his head wound clearly visible. She had taken him in, nursing the man till he had regained consciousness. Against all propriety, she had continued to look after him while sharing the same roof, slowly nursing him back to health. Even when she realised that he had no memory of his past, his behaviour being extremely rude yet truthful, she had continued to support him. Had waged a continuous battle against his stubbornness, his strong will proving him right and her wrong on many an occasion. (She had jokingly called him William as his answers to most questions was _well, I am!_ ).

As time passed and her queries about him threw back no answers, she resigned herself to the fact that she had done the best she could. William had gradually started to settle down, temporarily making his quarters next to the vicar’s. He used his knowledge to solve problems for local villagers, right from finding the tavern thief to providing Mrs Hutchens with a better yet easily made coop for her hens.

And somewhere along the way, the quiet, shy woman had opened her heart to the now not-so-much a stranger. She was surprised when she realised William reciprocated her feelings, and not just out of gratitude. He had asked her to marry him, and things had been looking better than ever for the young woman.

Until the vicar returned from London with the news that he might have found something about William. That he was an important man, with an even important family. Molly had contacted the said family, was happy that her fiancé would at last find answers to his questions.

Questions that were never asked.

As fate would have it, a few days prior to his brother’s arrival, William had tried to tame a local colt, an art he had mastered to sublime levels. But the beast had been scared by a snake and had thrown the man off. William had injured his head again, and though the injury didn’t look as grave, the wound ran deep.

Right into Molly’s heart.

The man who regained consciousness looked at her with a haughty yet unfamiliar gaze. There was a hardness to him that had been absent before. Molly was devastated but not surprised when he did not recognise her or anyone else.

So when the older brother had arrived from London, it was the younger brother who met him. _Sherlock_ , instead of William.

There were perfunctory ‘thank you’s exchanged before a restless and impatient Sherlock practically dragged his older brother away to the waiting carriage, leaving a heartbroken woman behind. But Molly was happy for him, happy to know that the man she loved had finally remembered and embraced the world he had so obviously loved and missed. And her life would be lonely, but still richer for the time she had known him.


	2. ....when the lost reach home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for Lilsherlockian1975 who celebrates her bday.  
> Also this is unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine.

It was almost a year and a half later, when two men from London paid a visit to her small village in search of a particular type of horseshoe that was a speciality of their local farrier, who was the village’s newest habitant. They had spent a good amount of the day near the stables, watching the horses and questioning the poor man.

The vicar happened to pass by and did a double take to see them. But the man earlier known as William, now looked different with his trademark curls severely sleeked back with pomade and his expensive, well cut clothes adding to the air of hauteur surrounding him.

The farrier, Masters, had introduced the vicar to Mr Holmes, a Consulting Detective from London, and Dr Watson. The vicar realised that the detective was indeed as sharp as stated in the London papers that had celebrated his resurrection a few months ago. His eyes hadn’t missed the holy man’s reaction, narrowing his eyes but not asking any questions.

A sudden downpour had delayed their departure and they had both accepted the vicar’s invitation for tea. He was hoping for as well as dreading Molly’s appearance, knowing how the separation from her fiancée had left the poor woman heartbroken, even though she put on a brave face.

When he saw her approaching the neighbouring empty rooms, as always on time to read stories to the village children, he accosted her by the door. He knew not what might be the outcome of them meeting, but he hoped that seeing his ex-fiancée might spark some memory in the detective’s mind.

“Miss Hooper, would you be so kind as to spare a minute to meet these gentleman from London? It’s the detective I told you about, Mr Holmes and his friend, Dr Watson.”

The vicar had felt tremendously guilty as Molly turned almost ashen at the names, but taking a deep breath, greeted the gentleman.

But the gods were too busy that day to answer the vicar’s prayers. The detective had given a tight smile and curt nod before turning back to his thoughts while the good doctor had been most courteous in his conversation. Molly had taken their leave right as the first child arrived, her face not giving away any hint to the raging emotions in her heart.

The vicar had apologised profusely later than evening, asking her forgiveness for reopening her wounds.

“There is nothing to forgive, I know you meant well. As you said, sometimes life has other, better plans for us that we cannot yet see. I choose to trust your words.”

And she was truthful to her words.

She had signed up to accompany a missionary team travelling to India, in order to teach the children of English families based in that part of the Empire. It would expose her to a new and exciting environment. She was perfectly suited for the job as she loved teaching, liked to read and update herself and was intelligent enough to make her way in a new place. He also hoped that a change of place might cause some change in her circumstances. The vicar had her best interest and so heartily pursued her application to the missionary charity.

He accompanied her on her trip to London, where she was to spend a few days learning about her new destination and its people, before embarking on her journey. But it was only a week in that he received a letter from her. She hadn’t given any details but her words conveyed her discomfort at a few things in the charity. The vicar answered with the full intention of putting her doubts to rest, but the following week received yet another letter where she had actually named people. The man knew that Molly wasn’t the type to over-react or to jump before the gun. He also knew that the organisation was too big for him to make any discreet enquiries or address the fears that Molly had conveyed. Thinking about it the whole night, by morning he had made the decision.

Maybe it was time the detective from London could be of help.

The nervous duo now stood in front of 221B on Baker Street. The door was opened by a kind looking lady, a Mrs Hudson who led her upstairs to the rooms occupied by Mr Holmes and Dr Watson.

The good doctor greeted her with some familiarity, his manner friendly and gracious. Mr Holmes was as aloof and distant as he was back when they last met. He did seem taken aback at her plans to travel to India but didn’t mock her nor make fun of her doubts and fears.

“I have had my eyes on that particular organisation for some time now, Miss Hooper. But its pretty close knit, posing problems to gather information from within. Now that you are inside, I hope things should be made relatively easy.”

“Holmes! You cannot expect Miss Hooper to go around gathering information. It could prove dangerous.”

“Oh I _know_ it will be. But this is the best way.”

He had turned to her then, his gaze as direct and penetrating as always.

“I will help you but time is of essence as I believe that your boat leaves within the fortnight. If we are to make progress, your help will be of utmost importance.”

Molly had hesitated; within the walls of the charity, things seemed even more imposing. She had felt nervous from the first day itself but when she saw even younger girls getting ready to travel, she knew she had to act.

Swallowing and ignoring her nerves, she had agreed to work as per the detective’s plan.

She mixed with her fellow boarders, attending lectures and classes set by the charity to familiarise the new travellers with their new destination and tasks. On the sly, she also managed to enter the office of one of the high ranking office holders and read through papers “that would be placed in a locker that would be left open under the left side of the desk”. She assumed Mr Holmes had entered the office sometime before as he knew the exact details.

She met him later at Baker Street, getting away on the pretence of sight seeing the city. She shared the details, but also sounded a few doubts on the picture the papers created. She was almost caught during one such visit to another office, but was able to talk herself out of what would have turned out to be a sticky situation indeed.

“That was quick thinking, Miss Hooper,” said Dr Watson in an admiring tone.

“Excellent survival instincts Watson, essential in single women of very limited means.” The detective’s words had diminished the thrill Molly had felt while carrying out the subterfuge, instead highlighting the risks.

But that did not stop him from asking her to continue her activities, which eventually ended late one evening in a scuffle with the suspect’s assistant in an isolated part of the charity’s building. Molly was thrown against the wall, and had to take help of a nearby metal vase to temporarily disable her assailant. She had begun to run away but was caught and overpowered by the man, before Mr Holmes and Dr Watson had come to her rescue. A one sided fist fight had ensued, where Mr Holmes had easily overpowered the man, subsequently leading to his and his master’s arrest by Scotland Yard.

X-X

“Young, susceptible women far away from their home land, an easy target for such ruffians. The charity wasn’t involved in such a nefarious activity, it was only Lord Clampton looking to make some money on the side to pay his debts raked up at the cards table. Only one woman was targeted out of each group that went to India, to minimise attention. The punishment will definitely be severe; the Crown does not take such activities lightly.”

Molly’s hand had been shaking when she had accepted the cup of tea from the housekeeper Mrs Hudson, even as Mr Holmes continued narrating the case to the vicar. The old lady had thrown a look at the detective, resulting in him damping down on his excited recitation and taking his seat.

They all had been having tea in Baker Street, before Molly and the vicar left for their village.

“Am happy you dealt with this monstrous business Mr Holmes…things people do under the name of the Church, no shame at all,” Mrs Hudson said in serious tones.

“The lure of money is enough for many to lose reason and common sense Mrs Hudson, least of all their belief in an imaginary figure and its set of rules,” Mr Holmes boldly stated, ignoring the vicar’s mortified cough.

“All said and done, I am glad the ruffian is arrested. I was worried about you, Miss Hooper.” The landlady hadn’t known her for long but they had formed a friendship during the frequent trips Molly had made to Baker Street. “I will miss you when you leave, but at least now I know you will be safe.”

Molly had almost been moved to tears by the kind words. She had smiled and had promised to keep in touch with the old woman.

“I will definitely write regularly Mrs Hudson. I will never forget the friendships I have made here.” She had smiled the landlady and her tenants. All but Mr Holmes returned her greetings with big smiles.

As they took leave, the vicar had smiled ruefully at her. He had still held some hope that the detective would somehow remember the woman he had been engaged to. Sitting in their carriage and leaving Baker Street, neither of them noticed the two men looking out of the window.

“Remarkable woman, Miss Hooper. The Empire’s gain will be England’s loss,” said Dr Watson.

“Yes, Watson. Intelligent, brave and kind…a remarkable woman indeed. It will truly be such a loss…for England.”

Watson was surprised at the almost poignant notes in his friend’s words, but kept quiet. He knew Holmes would deny it outright, but the doctor had seen him look at the Miss Hooper with admiration, sometimes tinged with a degree of fondness…even _affection_ if he might stretch his imagination.

But he knew better than to make mention of his observations.

But he knew there was some merit in them, as Holmes’ moods began to change for the worse as the departure date of the Miss Hooper’s steamer came close. He was snapping at Mrs Hudson, speaking with his Bow street runners in a biting tone he’d never before used. Even Inspector Lestrade was not spared from his sharp tongue.

Watson’s attempts speak to his friend and help him ease his mind fell on deaf and stubborn ears. Holmes refused to even listen to a whole sentence if Miss Hooper’s name was mentioned. Watson knew his friend had not been impartial to the young woman’s presence, but as his behaviour became even more intolerable as her departure date approached, his doubts turned into certainty.

“I believe Miss Hooper arrives in London tomorrow Holmes. Maybe we should invite her over for tea,” Watson had suggested.

Holmes had looked at him with a frown on his face.

“I solved her case. Why should we meet her again?”

“Probably because it is civilised behaviour to wish luck to an acquaintance who we would probably never see again.”

“That’s exactly my point.”

And he had refused to address the topic again.

On the day of the actual departure of the steamer, Holmes was absent from his house since morning. His arrival late in the evening brought a sombre mood to Baker Street that refused to lift.

He was disinterested in the case that Scotland Yard brought, nor any new clients. He refused to eat or drink, just played his violin for long hours.

It was a visit from his brother Mycroft Holmes that broke the reverie into which Holmes seemed to have disappeared.

“You seem to be in a bad mood, brother mine.”

“Hardly surprising, considering your unwanted visit Mycroft.”

“There, there now. There’s no need to get waspish so soon into the evening. I just happened to pass Baker Street on my way back from our Trade Union.”

“And that prompted this visit?”

“Not really. But I supposed you were free and would be interested in helping me sort out a mess made the Navy testing their new underwater charges on uncleared routes. Thankfully the charges weren’t fully loaded, but the resultant damage did mean we have about five ships returning back to port…one a passenger ship that had left for India.”

Holmes had snapped his head up to stare at his brother’s passive face, before rushing to his room and leaving fully dressed a few minutes later.

If Mycroft Holmes had smiled…well, it was still unseen by any living being that hadn’t quaked in its presence.

X-X

“Miss Hooper!”

Holmes had rushed to the charity’s offices, sure that the people it was sending to India would be temporarily accommodated there. And his assumption proved to be correct as usual. He had come upon her just as she was getting down from a carriage that also carried other passengers from the ship.

“Mr Holmes, what a surprise,” Molly said, her cheeks turning pink at the sight of the detective.

“I heard about your boat. You’re unharmed?”

“Er..yes. Just a bit shaken up.”

They stood facing each other, a frown on his face as he seemed to try to say something. The silence seemed comfortable and then suddenly it was laden with something.

Mr Holmes hesitated, seemed to weigh something in his mind until he finally seemed to have made a decision.

“Miss Hooper, this may sound weird. But…have we met before?”

Molly blinked at his question. Of all the things she had expected him to ask, those were the last words she’d expected.

“I-I don’t understand. We worked on-”

“The case, I know. But before that. I mean _way_ before that. Have we met?” he interrupted.

Suddenly on the verge of tears, Molly turned her face and shook her head. From the corner of her eyes, she saw him take one more step towards her.

“You are lying. Why are you lying?”

It wasn’t an accusation, it wasn’t just an observation but he said it like it was a mystery.

“Miss Hooper I know this isn’t the most convenient of places to hold a decent conversation. But-but since that first meeting in the village…I feel like I am missing the obvious. You look familiar…it seems like I have known you before. There was a level of comfort in talking to you. Even while solving the case, I wasn’t surprised at your quick thinking or bravery, but was _expecting_ it. Watson may think it too fanciful if I ask him, and my brother wouldn’t let me hear the end of it. So pray tell me, why do I feel this familiarity, this sense of comfort…of reaching my destination when I am with you?”

His voice had dropped from conversational to a whisper, his eyes beseeching her to tell him.

She pursed her lips, inhaling deeply. How did one tell someone that the familiarity that was being mentioned was borne out of a loving relationship? How did you tell someone who looked at emotions as something foreign, that he had been her fiancé and not sound lame? How did you tell them that the familiarity was based on a forgotten past? A past had manifested itself because of a memory loss?

It sounded weird even in her own head. But she knew she couldn’t lie. Not to this man, not when he could so easily tell she was lying. Not when he could pursue her till all his questions were answered.

“We have met before but you wouldn’t remember it. You have an injury on the left side of your head.” Holmes had gently touched the scar he knew was present on his skull. “That injury brought you to me…and the same brought you back to your world.”

He slightly frowned, waiting for her to continue. And she did. Standing in front of that old building in London, Molly bared her heart to the detective. She found it easy to speak once she began, her voice narrating the important points in an emotionless manner. A muscle twitched under his eye as Holmes stood stock still, am imposing figure in his well-cut suit and coat.

“So you see Mr Holmes, we have met before but we didn’t know each other. The man I knew, William, he disappeared the day you got your memories back. And as I have personally seen from close range, for the sake of England I hope William never comes back. Because this world needs Sherlock Holmes.”

She had smiled at him then and turned to enter the building.

“What about what Sherlock Holmes needs?”

She stopped and turned back, a slight frown on her face.

“What about what I need?” he repeated.

She shrugged, gently shaking her head.

“I have a feeling Miss Hooper, that a long conversation between us is long overdue,” he said gently. “That will also entail you missing your ship but that’s a necessary collateral damage.”

“Mr Holmes-”

“William will do, Miss Hooper. That indeed is my proper Christian name. William Sherlock Scott Holmes. I believe the full name of a man is a big step in getting to know him.”

Molly looked at him speechless, stunned.

“England may need me and will have me serve her till I am able. But Sherlock Holmes also realised, as of a moment ago, that he needs something very important for him to function.”

“And what is that?” she whispered.

“You,” came the simple reply.

 


End file.
